


Bruce Wayne and his chaotic family (or: Batfamily shenanigans)

by That_aussie_otaku_hermit



Series: Assorted Batfamily works [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Trying to be a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Tired Dad, Bruce Wayne is a meme, Bruce Wayne is emotionally repressed but he’s doing his best, Bruce Wayne says fuck toxic masculinity, Developing BatCat, Duke Thomas is a wholesome being, F/M, Gen, Jason Todd will straight kill a dude for his family, Kate Kane is the wine aunt of the family, Pro-choice sentiments, Social Media, Stephanie Brown is chaos personified
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_aussie_otaku_hermit/pseuds/That_aussie_otaku_hermit
Summary: The Wayne Family (and friends): walking, talking memes, especially on the internet.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & His Kids, Bruce Wayne & Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Series: Assorted Batfamily works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694281
Comments: 22
Kudos: 328





	1. Twitter, Instagram, and bullies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wayne Family (and friends): walking, talking memes, especially on the internet.

**_Tuesday, 6 PM, Wayne Manor._ **

“Hey Bruce!”

Bruce looks up from his computer but doesn’t stop typing—Stephanie always finds it equal parts odd and cool when he does that. 

“Stephanie,” he says in greeting, nodding at the phone in her hands, which she was holding up in front of her, clearly filming something.

“It’s a vlog for our YouTube channel, say hi!” 

He raises a manicured brow. 

“What did you do,” he asks, returning to his screen.”

His tone is more amused and concerned than menacing, which admittedly, Steph is still getting used to.

She feigned offence, gasping dramatically and placing a hand over her chest. “You always assume the worst of me, Mr Wayne.”

“Is there anything in particular you wanted to speak to me about? Or are you just fulfilling your role as the local entity of chaos?”

Steph snorts violently. 

“Okay, well,” she zooms the video in so only his head and torso are in frame. “We have a guest.”

Bruce looks up and stops typing. His brows furrow ever-so-slightly.

“Define “guest”, Stephanie.”

“Do I look like an _Alexa_ to you?”

Bruce’s deadpan look directly into the camera is absolutely going to become a meme later today. 

Steph rolls her eyes. 

“Well, our _guest_ is trying to burgle Alfred the Cat away from us again,” she begins, and she sees realisation dawn on his face, “and I think she’s found your mint-choc-chip ice cream.”

Bruce’s sigh of utter resignation and frustration would be something she’d laugh about in twenty years, assuming, y’know, she lived that long.

“I tried to stop her, I swear. I think Damian’s gonna go all Mortal Kombat on her in a second, though.”

After another sigh, he abandons his work, saving the document and closing his laptop. 

“If she’s eaten so much of a spoonful of my ice-cream—”

“—You’ll what? Dog-house her?”

Bruce’s face turns the slightest bit pinker. Imperceptible to the untrained eye, surely, but Steph considered herself well-versed in Bruce-speak, so the flush in his complexion was easily noticed. 

Steph grins like a maniac, but says nothing about it. She’d edit that bit of the video out later—she absolutely respected Bruce’s privacy, but she also didn’t want to be the reason Bruce put off just _asking Selina out already._

“Okay, bye-bye!”

With that, she spins on her heel and skips down the hallway, towards the faint sounds of Damian’s indignant shouting, Selina’s bubbling laughter, and Alfred yelling (well, as close to yelling as Alfred got, without pointing his shotgun at someone), _“get off the table!”_

The funniest part? Steph couldn’t tell who he was talking to. 

* * *

**_Wednesday, 11 AM, The Narrows._ **

Duke scrolls through his notifications while sipping his water. He’d get coffee, but he was currently trying to prove a point to Tim, so no caffeine for Duke today. That’s fine; worst-case-scenario, he could probably ask Damian to make him one of those green monstrosities he calls smoothies. Get energy the old-fashioned way, with _nutrients._

The waitress—Lucy, nice girl, Narrows native, shared a lot of classes with him in elementary and middle school—places down the plate of pancakes with a genuine smile. They’re not close, but they’re friendly enough to smile at each other across the street, or tag one another in a meme, or share a YouTube video every now and again. 

He thanks her, and she turns on her heel to retrieve the dirty plates and cups from the adjacent table. 

Duke opens a Twitter notification and sips his water, waiting for the thread to load. 

> **Tim Drake-Wayne** _@Timbo_
> 
> #OnlyInGotham could I try to get a morning coffee at the park and be interrupted by a literal sewer crocodile (Killer Croc, in case that wasn’t already abundantly clear) yeeting the cart at a police van. Let me get my caffeine in peace, Waylon.

|

|

> **Richard Grayson** _@DetectiveDick_
> 
> Honestly, that’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve heard today.
> 
> #WelcomeToGothamFolks #NotAsBadAsItSounds 

|

| 

> **B. Jones** _@Bennyboi_
> 
> ?????
> 
> It’s 11 AM??????
> 
> What the actual, genuine hell, Gotham? Y’all must be cursed or summ,,, good luck with that.
> 
> _@Timbo_
> 
> _@DetectiveDick_
> 
> _@GothamCityCouncil_
> 
> #GothamIsWeird

  
  


Duke snorts quietly though his mouthful of IHOP pancakes—this guy didn’t know the half of it. He’s half-tempted to retweet the exchange and mention Shaman Blackfire, who many scholars believe to be the reason for the sudden disappearance of the Miagani—a Native American group which had previously called Gotham home—and who had supposedly cursed the land. 

He’d learned all that in history class, but supposes that probably just sounds like a conspiracy theory to a non-Gothamite.

Instead, he opts for a simple, _“haha, we know, but we like it here anyway.”_ He adds a smiling emoji to the end and retweets the thread. He takes a bite of his pancakes, as he scrolls down his Twitter feed. 

The next few minutes are spent in a comfortable quiet, broken by the occasional laugh or scrape of cutlery on a plate. Duke loves these kinds of mornings, just out-and-about in Gotham, not doing recon or being swarmed by paparazzi. Just living his best life in an IHOP. 

That is until he receives a text from Dick.

Which isn’t entirely unusual, but Dick is supposed to be mentoring middle-schoolers in gymnastics right now, so his text is clearly not the usual meme he’d receive out-of-the-blue. 

He opens his phone and nearly drops it into his pancakes. 

> **Dick:** I heard about those assholes at school. Dad’s gonna be in Metropolis for most of tomorrow, but he’s told Jay and I to stand in for him when we speak to the principal tomorrow. See you then :)

Jay? Jason Todd would be meeting with his principal? How did they even know about those guys? 

Dumb question—Barbara, most likely. She’s put systems in place to monitor all the schools. Nothing too involved, but she keeps an extra ear out for the youths of Gotham while they’re all crammed into confined spaces together. 

How she’d managed to listen into the conversation—well, confrontation, really—between him and those douchebags was beyond him. 

He hoped Jason didn’t punch anyone out tomorrow. 

Duke looks over the text once again, lingering on the smiley-face, and suppresses a shudder.

Screw Jason, Dick Grayson was the one those boys should be scared of. 

* * *

**_Wednesday, 4:30 PM, Wayne Manor._**

Reading through the comments on a previous Instagram post, and audibly scoffing at the absurdity, she decides she’ll end this particular rumour before it gets out of hand. 

She opens up the camera app and starts a recording. 

“Hey Bruce,” Stephanie calls from across the main living room (which, yeah, sometimes it took a while to sink in that Bruce was rich enough for his house to have _three_ living rooms.)

Bruce looks up from his book. 

“Stephanie.”

She raises her phone and zooms in on him, sitting cross-legged on an armchair. 

“Is it true you fired someone because they insulted your eyeliner?”

Bruce blinked, and then frowns—his “Brucie Wayne” frown, not the Bat-Frown, because his Bat-Frown would probably send the nice people of YouTube into cardiac arrest.

“No. Where did you hear that?”

“Instagram, and also Twitter. He’s kicking up a huge fuss about it.”

Bruce’s brows furrow further. 

“No. I did _not_ fire him because he insulted my eyeliner.”

“Care to elaborate?” She asks, channeling her inner Vicki Vale. 

Bruce breathes out a laugh, clearly seeing a resemblance, and closes his book and sits further upright. 

“We fired Mr Stewart because the man was a raging misogynist, donated to various “pro-life” organisations, had a superiority complex to rival most of Gotham’s Most Wanted, and generally made working with him an unpleasant and uncomfortable experience. He also had several complaints made against him to HR, mostly by female coworkers. We don’t employ people who treat their coworkers with anything less than respect and decency. Mr Stewart did not adhere to our policies and has received a moderate severance package following his termination.” 

Stephanie laughed. 

Passive-aggressively insulting my decision to wear the eyeliner Cass applied this morning was just icing on the cake.” He shrugs. “Not my fault the man’s masculinity is as fragile as one of my mother’s tea sets.”

Stephanie cackles in a way the Wicked Witch of the West would be envious of, and her phone shakes violently. She flips the camera around once she’s calmed herself a bit. 

“Well, there you have it people! Tune in tomorrow for more Wayne shenanigans!”

She ends the video, and then sends Bruce a peace sign before skipping out of the living room. 

She captions the post with, “There’s your quote, Ms Vale, from Mr Bruce “respect women or die” Wayne himself! Have a lovely afternoon, folks! 

She posts the video before she overthinks it and deletes it altogether, and then launches herself onto the couch (to a passing Alfred’s chagrin) near the fireplace and taps through her Snapchat notifications.

Barely two minutes later, Dick sends her an all-caps DM, featuring several laughing emojis and even more exclamation points. 

Almost an hour later, while she’s gearing up for patrol alongside Dick and Bruce—Tim had a sprained ankle from attempting to replicate some dumb trick Dick had done earlier that week—Barbara sends her a link to a gossip article about the video, along with several applause emojis. 

She receives a similar text from one of her classmates a few minutes later, posted in a class group chat for memes. 

She grins at Dick, who’d arrived home a while ago after verbally murdering three teenage boys from Duke’s class, along with Jason. She wondered if they’d left any survivors. She shows him the article, and their combined laughter has Bruce eyeing them suspiciously. 

Two viral memes in just as many days. Fuck yeah.


	2. “Only Rainbows After Rain”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bad parenting, a Blackgate breakout, and then some comfort.
> 
> Title from _Keep Your Head Up_ by Andy Grammar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the last time I updated this was in, like, May, but sometimes life decides to hit you with a bullet train, ya know? Plus, I made the decision to rewrite this entire chapter not once but thrice, because I really wasn’t happy with it, so, fourth time’s the charm I guess... Just gonna post this now or else the next time this updates wil be in 2025.

**_Saturday, 10 AM, Wayne Manor._ **

Steph doesn’t call Bruce dad. “Dad” reminds her of her father, Arthur Brown—no matter how unequivocally unfit for parenthood he may be—and she’d rather not think about the man at all. 

Calling him “dad” just feels wrong. Right? The guy may be fostering her and acting as her legal guardian until her mom, Crystal, goes into rehab and the courts deem her fit for guardianship, but he’s not her parent. He’s not—it’s just weird. Also, she used to date Tim, his legal son. Also, there’s the fact that she’s currently dating Cass, _another_ of Bruce’s kids… So, no “dad” title. 

“Boss” seems like an appropriate term, and it had stuck like superglue since the first time she threw it out in conversation; a _“sure, Boss,_ ” said in acknowledgement during an informal League meeting—over Zoom with nearly thirty other people, no less. She’d meant it mostly as a joke, but she’d liked how it sounded and, well, that’s all she wrote.

Damian calls him _“Father”_ or, more rarely, _“abati”,_ its Arabic equivalent. One night she even heard him call Bruce _“abi”_ —Arabic _“dad”_ —which was the most informal term of address she’d heard out of him. Teasing him may be one of her favourite pastimes, but she thinks that particular tidbit is just too personal to make fun of. Truthfully, she’s proud of the kid, he’d sure come a long way. 

Dick and Tim both call him _“Bruce”_ or just _“B”_ , though she’s heard them both call him “Dad” enough times to know their stance on the title. 

Duke… Well, Bruce hasn’t actually adopted him, he’s fostering him until he turns eighteen—he’s probably more like some weird, cool uncle who offers what’s probably not the best life advice, but he does his damn best anyway. A weird, cool uncle that fights crime, aliens, and all manner of eldritch horrors dressed like a _bat_ , anyway. Duke usually sticks with _“Bruce”_ or _“B-Man”_ —it’s a happy, casual medium. Though, she knows Bruce is more of a father-figure than an uncle to him—Duke had told him as much—but for right now, this is okay. 

Cass calls him _“dad”_ to the point of excess—though, to a girl who’d only learned how to understand any kind of written or spoken language very recently, the word must seem like magic. Whenever she talks about her adoption, she gets the biggest grin on her face, like it’s the greatest thing she’s ever heard of. 

Harper and Cullen aren’t being fostered either—with Harper being an emancipated minor—but the both of them knew the Manor and Cave were open to them for any reason. Steph guesses that exuding _‘weird-stupidly-rich-but-will-fight-your-enemies-uncle-figure’_ energy comes as naturally to Bruce as breathing. 

She knows Harper plans to make a few rounds tonight and tomorrow—carving some time out of her study hours to check up on some friends and sources she hasn’t heard from in a while. She’d also agreed to check on something for Babs, meaning her plate would be pretty full in the coming days, so when Bruce offered to put her up for as long as she needed, she hadn’t hesitated to claim a guest room. 

Jason—well, she’s not quite sure what Jason calls Bruce. She’d heard _“Old Man”_ come out of him at one point, but aside from that, it was probably just “Bruce”. He doesn’t exactly spend a whole lot of time at the manor, or in Bruce’s general vicinity these days. Things are certainly better than they were, but there’s still a lot to do. Bruce seems genuinely invested in doing right by Jason, though, which is definitely a step in the right direction. 

Hell, he’s here in the Manor right now—well, the cave, actually, but still on the premises—fixing up some of his weapons and making mods to his armour and other gear. No one’s been allowed to see them except for Alfred, but he hasn’t spoken out about them, meaning Jason isn’t adding, like, an anti-tank rifle to his bike or something. 

It’s only when Tim nudges her ankle with the side of his foot that she realises she’s been staring blankly at her breakfast for who-knows-how-long. She sends him a placating smile and digs into her meal. 

She and Alfred had made an unholy amount of waffles earlier in the morning, which Steph now enjoys with some whipped cream, maple syrup and raspberries, along with a glass of orange juice. A classic, stereotypical weekend breakfast.

Beside her, Damian had opted for a tall glass of what may have been toxic waste, for how green it was. An unholy concoction of kale, celery, mint, green apple, a little bit of carrot and a squeeze of lemon juice. _Gross._ He and Bruce had started making that particular blend of juice a few weeks ago and it’s now a part of both of their morning routines. 

Why can't they just chug protein shakes like the rest of them? Probably some commentary on consumerism and capitalism and health in general. She’d learned the hard way not to engage either of them in conversation in any of those particular subjects. 

Dick had given the juice a go, but had ultimately decided against ever drinking the stuff again; the face he’d made after taking a large gulp of the drink would forever be etched into Steph’s brain, and also on her Instagram account. Duke found it edible, somehow, so he would often leech some of it from Bruce or Damian before hopping off to whatever he needed to do. 

Speaking of Duke—she was supposed to meet up with him later this morning for backup. Probably at that IHOP he frequented in the Narrows. She usually pulled nights, but Tim had suggested they mix it up a bit, so no one got any bright ideas to go after the supposed “weak links” of the Bats—the ones who appeared in the daytime. 

Kate’s in the living room watching reruns of classic Doctor Who with Titus, after having woken up at the crack of dawn and taken him on a jog. Usually they don’t see her much outside of patrols or the odd public appearance—her own company takes up a fair chunk of her time—but this week is special. Because, this time next week is the annual Martha Wayne Foundation charity Gala. She usually avoids the events at all costs—high society is sure full of thinly-veiled anti-semitism and homophobia—but these ones are special. Sometimes Steph forgets that Kate lost an aunt and uncle that night. 

She stuffs another forkful of waffle and whipped cream into her mouth and sends Damian a dirty look when he side-eyes her for her lack of poise. She makes sure to chew audibly just to gross him out. 

Tim snorts beside her, texting someone—likely his _“not boyfriend”,_ Connor—while he shovels his own breakfast into his mouth. 

For a rare moment, it’s peaceful. Amicable. 

Very off-brand for this family. That should have been her indicator that something was about to go horribly wrong. 

  
  


* * *

**_Saturday, 12PM, Gotham Docks, City Hall District._ **

Jason doesn’t call Bruce “dad.”

Even before—before _everything_ —the title of “dad” wasn’t something he used liberally. “Dad” was always Willis. “Dad” always meant danger, anger, and sometimes a man who gave a shit about Jason. Sometimes. 

So he doesn’t call him “dad” (despite how much he wants to, how much he wishes everything could go back to the way it was, when he _was_ Bruce’s son). It’s always “Bruce” or “Old Man”, just to see how much he can piss him off reminding the guy of his own mortality before this whole thing inevitably goes to shit again. 

Damian calls him “father”—because of course he does, he’s Bruce’s _real_ son, not some lost puppy he’d picked up off the side of the road—and he uses the term like a whip, keeping the rest of them in line. In their place. 

Tim splits time between his own apartment and the Manor, but Jason’s not sure he stands in that respect; he’d only ever heard him use “Bruce”. 

He doesn’t know enough about Harper or Cullen to make any assumptions about them, but he knows Duke goes with “B-Man”, and that Cassandra—she insisted he call her “Cass”—throws the “dad” term around like it’s going out of style, even in uniform. Favourite child privileges, he guesses. 

Stephanie— _Steph_ —uses “boss”, which is amusing in its own way. 

He knows Dick still feels weird about calling him “dad” sometimes; he’d been vehemently against being adopted at all when he was first brought to the manor, which Bruce was understanding about. Jason doesn’t talk to Dick as much these days—not every day, like they used to—but they’re _talking_ , rather amicably, which puts them both in a better spot than they’ve been in for the years immediately following Jason’s resurrection. 

Fuck this whole family—being _resurrected_ is practically run-of-the-mill at this point. Steph, Cass, Damian... What the _genuine fuck._

He shakes his head, focusing on keeping his guns trained on the groups of armed thugs tied up on the floor. The bullets are rubber, but these assholes don’t need to know that. They may be mobsters, but most of them were roped into this to either pay off some insurmountable debt, or at the threat of a family member getting iced—or, in one woman’s case, both—not from any kind of greed or malice. Jail time or probation would set them straight, followed by some community service and a healthy dose of absolute terror.

They’re in one of the newer dockside warehouses—near Slaughter Swamp and Tricorner—so they’re mostly Penguin’s guys and some of an up-and-coming boss’ goons. Haven’t gotten any names yet, but with this many captured, someone is bound to spill the beans eventually. All they need is a name, or a hideout, or a place of origin, and Gordon and Major Crimes can work up a preliminary profile, sic the Feds on the bastards, and then Jason could put these assholes out of his mind and fuck off back to the Alley. 

Signal stalks around the inner perimeter, checking for weapons and stragglers that hid in the chaos. Inside and behind crates, under tarps and tables, opening wardrobes and shifting stacks of chairs out of his way. 

Signal waves his hand to get Jason’s attention, then gestures to one of the doors leading to the outside. Jason nods once, something he’d picked up from Bruce; nod twice for yes and once to signal acknowledgement. 

Signal heads outside, checking for cameras or bugs or evidence of other vehicles. If they can track their transport, they can track the group. 

Jason takes another look around the warehouse, keeping his head relatively still, to not give the guys on the ground any ideas. It’s been renovated recently—maybe ten or so years ago—so the few wooden supports present aren’t rotten or mouldy, and there’s very little rust. The concrete floor is clean and smooth, if a bit dusty and covered in shell casings, and Jason can’t find any graffiti to speak of. The two interior rooms—an office and a small toilet complex—seem to be in good shape, though the window to the office suffered some damage. The cleanliness points to a professional cleaning crew, meaning this is owned by someone independent of both gangs, and probably completely uninvolved in their turf war. Just some civilian company caught in the crossfire. 

After a few minutes of relative silence, Signal’s comm line opens up. _“Signal to Hood; All Clear.”_

“No other drugs?”

_“Negative on all counts, Hood. Just the crate of coke in the truck on the Southeast entrance of the warehouse.”_

Small amount—that’ll just make it easier for Jason to burn the lot of it before the cops get their mitts on it and it “mysteriously” gets “lost” from the evidence locker, or “unfortunately” misfiled and “not logged into evidence.” Then it'll just show right back up on the street, or in some poor bastard's car or mailbox so the cops can make their damn arrest quotas.

“Copy that, Signal.”

_“Also, an advisory went out a few minutes ago about a riot at Blackgate; I’m gonna head over and see if there's anything I can do.”_

Excellent. Just excellent. 

“Roger. Do your thing, Signal. Keep me in the loop.”

_“Wilco. Over and out.”_

The line goes silent.

The newbies—clearly not Gotham natives, judging by their accents and mannerisms—look at him like he’s an idiot. He did just send his backup away, so he gets why they’re thinking that.

Penguin's guys barely look at him at all, grumbling in frustration and annoyance or mute with fear or anger. They know what the Red Hood—what any of the Bats—are capable of, and what happens when you underestimate one of them.

He pulls his communicator out and lets Oracle know they’ve secured the thugs, drugs and guns. There were less drugs than there ought to be, which confirmed he and Batman’s suspicions that this was a sting—Penguin luring up the newbie into an ambush to make a statement.

He holsters his weapons and takes out a cheap flip-lighter - lifted from some asshole harassing the Working Girls in the Alley - and a tin of lighter fluid. He stalks over to the truck and douses the crate in the liquid, then flicks the lighter open, steps back, and tosses it on. The crate ignites instantly. 

Then, because apparently no one in this goddamn family is allowed to have ten minutes of peace and quiet, the comm in his helmet blares to life.

  
  


* * *

The riot—which soon escalated into a coordinated breakout—is suppressed. The inmates are tended to and sent into lockdown or solitary confinement. Some are transferred from medium to maximum security as punishment. 

Bane is recaptured, treated for his injuries and transported back to the SuperMax complex for further treatment. The medics are briefed on how to handle the incoming Venom withdrawals. It’s suspected that he was either the mastermind of the operation or took advantage of the chaos to enact a mass breakout; either way, Jason will be keeping a close eye on the guy. 

The guards are tended to. The Warden - decent enough man, seems to actually give a shit about the inmates - absolutely unleashes on the Blackgate board of directors and the representatives from City Hall, and gets three people fired in the process. The Gotham City Council and Wayne Enterprises pledge a large sum of money for the reconstruction and partial renovation efforts, upgrading the security system and healthcare facilities in particular. First-responders reported that one group of inmates pulled a goddamn Alcatraz and carved their way out into the ventilation shafts with plastic spoons, so infrastructure is sure to get a boost in budget.

Hell, even Superman makes an appearance, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he helped clear out most of the rubble that usually would have required a crane or excavator several days, had a stern talking-to with the heads of the prison committee and City Hall respectively, and then left abruptly to deal with a raging wildfire somewhere—Florida?. Probably Florida. Poor bastards can't catch a break.

A curse, because… Everyone knows Batman is in too bad a shape to deal with the aftermath in person. He’d usually have made an appearance by now in some capacity. A sustained absence tends to give low-lives a confidence boost, despite the fact that there are a fuckin’ baker’s dozen of others out on the streets on a regular basis. 

Batman is a symbol, that much is evident. 

Bruce is passed out in his bedroom upstairs, nursing a punctured right lung, sprained right knee, and enough grazes, lacerations and bruising for three people. But he’s okay, in the grand scheme of things.

Bane has certainly given him worse injuries.

After Leslie had patched him up, he’d been left down in the cave in an induced sleep for six—nearly seven—hours, after which he was woken for a bath, a change of clothes and bandages, a liquid meal, a brief argument with Leslie and Alfred, and then put back under. 

That was twelve hours ago. 

They’d let Lucius and Tamara know that Bruce will be out of commission for a while, and Babs had sent in an anonymous tip that some asshole had t-boned Bruce Wayne and sped off without even calling 911. The tip said that, in a delirious state, he drove himself almost the entire way home before passing out behind the wheel near Wayne Manor. Doctor Leslie Thompkins and a surgeon she trusted had been summoned to the house to give medical aid, and ultimately decided letting him at the house would be best. 

The media will be all over that when business hours start. It’d certainly distract from Luthor’s ugly mug in the papers for whatever stupid, self-serving interview he’d given lately.

Jason has a full plate of food in front of him—corned beef, boiled string beans and diced carrots, and some truly excellent mashed potato—but he hasn’t eaten a bite. 

He can’t stop thinking about the prison surveillance footage. Thanks to Barbara, the surveillance cameras operate on a separate system, so even in the event of a blackout or technical failure, unless the cameras themselves are interfered with, all the footage is recorded and stored on-site and on a cloud server. Tim had started pouring over the footage as soon as he’d been able to acquire it, about two hours ago. Cass and Babs had joined him from the Clocktower, via video, and Jason watched from a seat behind Tim. 

They’d watched in horror and rapt fascination as Bruce tore through the hallways, knocking enemies aside like bowling pins, collecting guards like stray cats, and treating the wounded as he went. He must have gone through two rolls of electrical tape just making emergency splints. 

When the group reached the hallway leading to the medium security yard, Tim slows the feed substantially, so it’s almost frame-by-frame. 

Bruce hands out a handful of something—probably smoke pellets—to a half-dozen guards before using his corrosive spray to breach the security door, and the group floods out into the medium security prison yard. 

Where Bane is waiting for them. 

There are more cameras in the yard than the hallways, so Babs splits the screen and cycles through a few of the feeds, trying to get the best angles. 

The guards provide decent cover with their rifles and pistols, but Bane, his abilities amplified by the Venom he’d taken, tears through gym equipment like he’s opening curtains, throwing dumbbells and weights like he’s lobbing snowballs. 

Bruce tackles a guard out of the trajectory of a weights’ bench and launches an aerosolized anaesthetic at Bane, but it’s no use, because he’s charging at him, arm reaching out—

—he grabs Bruce by the forearm and launches him across he yard like a kid throwing a barbie doll. They can see the blood dribbling out between his lips before he’s even stood back up. He spits blood onto the dirt when he rises to his feet into a fighting stance. 

Jason couldn’t watch anymore of that. He bailed, even though there was nearly half an hour’s worth of footage to scour through. He gets up out of his chair and says something vaguely resembling a “good night” to Tim, Cass and Babs. 

So now he’s in the kitchen, feet dangling from the barstool as he stares blankly at the island countertop. 

He holds his head in his hands, a million things rattling around in his head. 

Why is this bothering him so much? He’s probably better off leaving and coming back later, after he’s had a nap in a space that’s his own, and eaten from his own fridge, and skulked through alleyways that have always— _will always_ —be his home. 

He takes a small forkful of mashed potatoes and green beans and pretends that it’s sweat rolling down his cheeks. 

  
  


* * *

When the clock strikes eleven, Dick goes to check on Damian. 

He’s changed into a t-shirt and leggings, since Tim, Steph and Kate stole all of his actual pyjamas for some kind of prank or arts-and-crafts video. Except the Superman and Wonder Woman ones—at least they have _some_ standards. 

He knocks twice, and receives no answer. He opens the door slowly, wondering if he’s turned in already. 

His bed is empty. 

Immediately, Dick’s in panic-mode. Damian is meeting with classmates early tomorrow morning to work on a group project, so Alfred had forbade him from staying up late on anything that wasn’t school-related. With Bruce… _Out of commission,_ him blatantly disobeying Alfred was odd. 

He speeds down the corridor, careful to be quiet around Duke’s room, as he’s still passed out after busting his ass containing the violence outside the prison and bringing escapees back into police custody. 

God, the one day Dick’s out of town…

Before he even realises it he’s in Bruce’s room, the door is completely opened and he’s halfway to Bruce’s bed before he stops dead in his tracks.

Bruce is still asleep, flat on his back with a series of pillows placed strategically around him to offer more support to his right side. 

Damian is passed out on Bruce’s chest, his head tucked into the crook of Bruce’s neck, legs akimbo. He’s wearing his Batman-themed pyjamas (which are secretly his favourite), and his arms are wrapped loosely around Bruce’s shoulders.

Duke is not in his room either, it seems—he’s lying parallel to the headboard at the bottom of the bed, head towards the doorway with his back to Bruce, curled up in a separate blanket and pillow. He’s got earbuds in and is sleeping peacefully. 

Another head pops up from behind Bruce and Damians’ bodies—Jason’s. 

He’s bleary eyed but alarmed—probably because Dick just rushed in here like a madman—and his hair is a mess and there are indents from a blanket on one side of his face. 

“What?” He croaks, arranging itself into a somewhat upright position, squinting against the light. 

“Sorry,” Dick says. “I um, I saw Dami wasn’t in his bed, and…”

Jason is silent, but the look in his eyes tell him he understands. Viscerally. 

“Are you sure you and the Old Man aren’t biologically related?”

Dick huffs a quiet laugh. He makes a vague gesture to the empty space on Bruce’s right.

“Is this seat taken?”

Jason exhales, to breathy to be a proper laugh. “Just don’t snore. Mind the stitches.”

Dick shoots a quick text to Cass—letting her know where they all are—before he backtracks and pushes the door shut almost completely. He draws back the duvet and quietly adjusts the pillows to conform better to Bruce’s side. 

Cass replies with two thumbs-up emojis, a bed emoji, and a purple heart emoji; she’ll be sleeping in Steph’s room, then. 

“I don’t snore,” he finally mumbles, to which Jason exhales sharply in response. 

“You do.”

“That’s rude,” he whispers back. 

He settles on resting his head on Bruce’s bicep, an arm and a leg slung over him like a koala clinging to a tree. 

Jason’s on Bruce’s other side, though he has far less room than Dick because of how Damian is arranged. 

Damian’s a cuddler—you’d never guess it by looking at him. He wonders if that’s genetic, too. Judging by how unperturbed Bruce seems by all the physical contact, he guesses he’s on the right track.

Damian makes a small noise in his sleep and Dick looks up, concerned, raising a hand to rest it gently on his back. 

Another arm slings across Damian’s back—Bruce’s. 

“You _do_ snore, Dickie,” Bruce mumbles, almost silently.

Jason snickers quietly. 

Dick can’t even form a response. 

“Iz okay. Still love you. All ‘f you.”

That leaves them both speechless. 

The arm Dick is resting against curls around his back, bringing him closer. 

Dick takes a deep breath, burrows his head into his father’s chest and closes his eyes. 

It’s going to be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is unrelated to this fic (and spoilers for the Nightwing comics) but wE GOT DICK GRAYSON BACK! I REPEAT THE RIC GRAYSON ARC HAS FINISHED! I’m so happy! I didn’t have a problem with the Ric Grayson character (I have much more of a problem with how DC handled the fam overall and the aftermath of the memory return) but I am so glad our boy is back. 
> 
> Stephanie calling Bruce “boss” is based on this Tumblr post I found.


	3. “You are my da-ad, you’re my dad! Boogie woogie woogie!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Group-chats, Twitter and gaming, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intentionally didn’t include Tim in the previous chapter, for various reasons. He’s an established Wayne and bat-kid, yes, but that doesn’t mean he always thinks he fits in or is welcome in those spaces, and he still deals with a lot of things in unhealthy ways (all of which goes for the whole family). 
> 
> I just wanna see the BatFam living their best lives on social media, ok? I feel like all of Gotham would enjoy seeing them interact online, especially given how chaotic they are. 
> 
> Hyperlinks aren't working in the actual story for whatever reason so here are the links:
> 
> https://youtu.be/BsuY9lHxg88 (also the basis for the chapter title).
> 
> https://youtu.be/cZiDjA6Vzx0 
> 
> https://youtu.be/tOlUJITFGCI
> 
> https://youtu.be/I3EUClspyZA
> 
> https://youtu.be/OyBmEeojfKo

**_Tuesday, 11:30 AM, Wayne Tower, Tricorner._ **

Tim opens the notification from the family group chat, hunching forward over his desk.

> 🦇 **_The Whole Damn Fam_** 🦇

> Skynet: I have a very important video to share with you all
> 
> Spoiler Alert: why is that so ominous
> 
> Not A Duck: Barbrara if this is another Rickroll istg I will stomp you to death with my hooves.
> 
> The Duke: I’m afraid
> 
> Skynet: <link>
> 
> _[It’s an edit of_ _a vine; the text over the man holding the microphone reads: “Gotham youth.”_
> 
> _“You are my dad, you’re my dad! Boogie woogie woogie!”_
> 
> _The father’s image in the top right corner expands to take up the whole screen. The father is labelled “Batman”.]_

Tim snorts so violently it actually hurts his throat, and he spends a few seconds just trying to not choke on his spit.

He saves the video as soon as he can breathe properly and sends it to Conner. Tam is part of the group chat, but is much more responsible than Tim, and doesn’t use her phone during work hours unless it’s an emergency or a really slow day.

> The Duke: what is his title? Town dad? City dad? They just sound weird
> 
> Spoiler Alert: the Designated Dad?

Tim breathes out a laugh.

> The Duke: much better
> 
> The Firstborn: that’s fantastic I love it
> 
> Not A Duck: Where did you find that video??
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Skynet: YouTube. This girl edits a bunch of vines to make them relatable to Gothamites. She also has a tiktok.
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: you mean Musically 2
> 
> The Firstborn: Incredible. I’m subscribing immediately.
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: I share video on twitter
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: And who the fUCK changed my name back are you kidding me
> 
> Not A Duck: Nice work Cass you’re doing great
> 
> Spoiler Alert: TikTok is actually an okay app when you curate your experience to avoid the transphobes and white supremacists
> 
> Cryptid Electrician: lmao Jason you’re awake early
> 
> The Duke: Steph speaks nothing but facts 👏👏
> 
> The Duke: also, love the name, Harper
> 
> Skynet: I have more of them saved. So many more.
> 
> Spoiler Alert: seND THEM ALL

“Hey, Tim?”

Tim’s head whips up from where he’s hunched over his desk.

It’s Lucius, eyebrow raised in amusement and hand holding a ceramic mug and an assortment of folders tucked under his arm.

“I’ve come bearing gifts. This a latte.”

He normally has espresso, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

“By the way, we’re rationing your coffee.”

“We are a billion-dollar company. Why do we need to ration coffee?”

Another raise of his eyebrow. “I said we’re rationing _your_ coffee.”

“How could you betray me like this, Lucius.”

“What, you want to take it up with Alfred?”

“… Low blow, Mr Fox.”

“That’s what I thought.” He sets the cup down and then places a manila folder beside it. “I’ve got some schematics here for you—I’ve been over them extensively, but I’m really not sure how these security doors keep malfunctioning. Bruce asked me to get you on the case; we both think it’s the start of a malicious hacking campaign, but we want to eliminate whether it’s some kind of malfunction before we investigate that possibility. Hopefully we can figure this out before anyone get hurt by them.opefully we”

Bruce wants him on the case?

“Uh, yeah, I’ll get right on that. Thanks, Lucius.”

“Just to make it clear, he’s not shovelling this onto you because he has better things to do—he’s handing you the reigns because he trusts your judgement. So do I, for that matter.”

“Thank you, Lucius.”

He nods and smiles, then he spins on his heel and leaves as swiftly as he’d entered, closing the glass door behind him silently.

Tim re-opens the messaging app and takes a swig of his coffee.

> 🦇 **_The Whole Dam Fam_** 🦇
> 
> Skynet: <link>
> 
> _[_ _The camera focuses on a dog, howling unusually._ _The girl behind the camera holds a crucifix out in front of her. The dog is labelled “the poltergeists in my apartment building”.]_
> 
> _[ The girl is shouting, “The power of Christ compels you!” at the dog. The girl is labelled with an asterisk at the bottom of the screen: “Batman and Zatanna yesterday afternoon.”]_
> 
> Not A Duck: when your dad is basically a ghostbuster
> 
> The Firstborn: wait Tim aren’t you at work
> 
> Not A Duck: aren’t YOU at work
> 
> The Sane One: won’t you get in trouble for being on your phone??
> 
> The Firstborn: Timothy Wayne!!!
> 
> The Sane One: Also who changed my name?? I swear it wasn’t like this yesterday?
> 
> Skynet: I did Cullen
> 
> The Sane One: oh ok
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: oh so you’ll change his name but not mine?
> 
> The Duke: I mean it’s accurate…
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: Do work brother. Lot of it to do.

Tim stares at the message for what is probably longer than necessary before replying.

> Not A Duck: k

He shuts off his phone, shoves it into his knapsack, and boots up the desktop computer. He usually has his laptop with him, but he’d left it in the cave – though, since most of his stuff is stored on cloud servers anyway it doesn’t matter much anyway.

He rolls his shoulders, has another swig of coffee, inputs the ten-digit passcode, and then gets to work. He scrolls through and answers emails, forwarding more than a few to Tam and Lucius to answer instead, and then opens up the shared folder containing the plans for the upcoming Martha Wayne Foundation Charity Ball. Dozens of others – probably more qualified than Tim – had already worked tirelessly to draft up plans and finalise guest lists and security teams and menus and seating charts and speeches, but Tim wants this to be perfect. The clacking of the keyboard and the dull tick of the analogue wall-clock become the soundtrack for his working day.

When he sits up and stretches his arms above his head, he slides his gaze over to the clock and sees it’s just past 2 PM.

His coffee must be undrinkable by now. Shame.

It’s not enough. He hasn’t done enough today. He’s just been sitting down answering emails and scrolling on a damn computer and typing on Google Docs for three hours.

_‘No. Bad brain. Bad brain! Take a break and come back. This is my job, this is what I’m supposed to do.’_

He sits back and sighs, stretching his arms out sideways, clenching and unclenching his hands.

He reaches into his bag and grabs his phone, switching it on.

He makes a few final touches on his documents before closing all of his tabs and shutting the computer down. There’d been more than one occasion where an employee had left their phone or compute unlocked and had their data compromised by hobbyist hackers or by criminals discreetly employed by Lex Luthor trying to get an edge over Wayne Enterprises.

Ah, the wonders of The Information Age.

He unlocks his phone and taps open the most recent notification.

> 🦇 **_The Whole Damn Fam_** 🦇
> 
> Skynet: I found one about Poison Ivy and it’s so accurate: <link>
> 
> _[_ _The video focuses on a man holding a glass Coca-Cola bottle._ _The man is labelled, “Poison Ivy”._
> 
> _“Hey guys. A good alternative to recycling: when you’re done with the glass bottle, eat it. Fucking, eat the bottle.”_
> 
> _The video ends abruptly.]_
> 
> The Firstborn: hahahahah
> 
> The Sane One: I mean he’s not wrong
> 
> The Sane One: do you think there are aliens that eat glass??
> 
> Skynet: Dude there are people out there addicted to eating plastic bags, there are probably humans out there who eat glass, and probably also aliens.
> 
> Robo-Bat: I feel like that’s something she has said tbh.
> 
> Skynet: wouldn’t be surprised lol.
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: Oh cool I found one about me:
> 
> _[_ _The video is shot from a phone inside a car_ _; it focuses on a tow-truck hauling a police car._
> 
> _“Try and pull me over now, cop!” The man recording laughs maniacally._
> 
> _The car is labelled “GCPD.” The man recording is labelled “Red Hood after breaking the speed limit.”]_
> 
> The Duke: nice 👌🏿👌🏿
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: also… babs… “lol”? “dude”??? 2013 called it wants its slang back
> 
> Robo-Bat: lmao no need to victimise Barbara like this
> 
> Skynet: Jason Peter Todd I WILL expose your internet history on this chat if you test me.
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: jokes on you, I’m sex-repulsed so it’s all gonna be Jane Austin, Agatha Christie and animal videos bitch
> 
> Spoiler Alert: valid
> 
> The Duke: valid
> 
> The Sane One: valid
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: me as well sort of
> 
> Skynet: I was talking about the bad romcoms you insist you hate but actually rewatch frequently despite what you tell Dick but okay
> 
> Robo-Bat: 🤣🤣
> 
> The Firstborn: I KNEW IT.
> 
> The Firstborn: I KNEW YOU LIKED A CINDERELLA STORY
> 
> Cryptid Electrician: ahdjkahunjswbx
> 
> The Duke: Oh no, Luke uses the diagonal laughing face.
> 
> Skynet: he doubled up on it too lol
> 
> Robo-Bat: excuse me mfs
> 
> The Firstborn: I mean I love a good laughing emoji but that one. Just isn’t it.
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: stop being mean to luke and jay
> 
> Robo-Bat: cass is the only one of y’all I respect 😤😤
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: I knew you were a real one, cass.

There’s a significant time between the last message and the next one, which was sent about ten minutes ago.

> Wine Aunt: Hello feral children, I come bearing gifts: <link>
> 
> _[_ _The video focuses on a man accelerating down a ramp and towards the camera_ _. He slides sideways before stopping. “Good evening.”_
> 
> _The man is labelled “Black Bat giving me the phone I’d left on a park bench.”]_
> 
> Not A Duck: ok, first off, that is incredible.
> 
> Not A Duck: second, poison ivy 100% has said something like that to me once. Though, I think she meant it as a threat?? Not to me but like, in general.
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: hello tim are you done work.
> 
> The Firstborn: What’s up Timbo
> 
> Not A Duck: nearly done, cass I’ve done most of it, just taking a coffee break.
> 
> Robo-Bat: Tim’s taking a break??? 👀
> 
> Skynet: lol. Good for you Tim. I know your plate must be pretty full lately.
> 
> Spoiler-Alert: Oh my god, they’ve replaced him with a robot and given him self-preservation instincts!
> 
> Cryptid Electrician: Hjbxiwhehuxw “there is one imposter among us”
> 
> The Firstborn: wait hang on I thought Lucius restricted everyone’s coffee access
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: What next? He’ll start getting more than five hours of sleep??
> 
> The Smallest: You have approximately zero room to criticise anyone on a healthy sleeping schedule.
> 
> Not A Duck: no, just mine and a few other employees’ it seems
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: break is good. Dad says we should take lots of breaks from work. Dad does not do this though. Just take baby naps and scowls at wall.
> 
> The Smallest: these videos are very amusing, I see why they are so popular. I have saved them to my device. I have also followed that person on tiktok.
> 
> The Firstborn: well, you know Bruce, “do as I say, not as I do.”
> 
> Sugar Plum Fairy: Dad must take more break. Tim also.
> 
> Spoiler-Alert: throwback to that one time Tim was up for like 24 hours trying to do some project for school during the holidays and when Bruce told him to sleep he said “sleep is for the weak!” and then passed out like five minutes later..

Tim grins at his phone – he can play this game too.

So, Tim goes into settings and disables nicknames, making sure their actual names are displayed, renames the chat, and then takes a few screenshots. After that, he opens up Twitter. He uploads the images and types out the tweet. _“I came out here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”_ He posts the tweet.

Then, he replies to that tweet and posts the links to the videos Barbara had shared for everyone else to see.

He’ll come back to that in a couple of hours. Right now, he needs more coffee and a brisk walk around the floor.

* * *

When Tim next opens up his phone – which ended up being about two hours later, after taking a look at the schematics Bruce had left for him and signing a few documents – he immediately opens Twitter and is not disappointed when he sees he’s put #WayneFamily back on the trending list.

> **Luke Skywalker Deserved Better** _@AudreySmith_
> 
> Ahsjdjdbwhewo the Wayne kids (and others) are iconic. Protect them at all costs.
> 
> #WayneFamily #timdrakewayne #justsiblingthings #MeanwhileInGothamCity
> 
> |
> 
> |
> 
> **Patty** **he/him** _@PatrickDavies_
> 
> Clowning that poor guy for his emoji use… Valid but unfortunate.
> 
> #WayneFamily #timdrakewayne
> 
> |
> 
> |
> 
> **Cait not Kate** _@CaitBaker_
> 
> Jason Todd is like that John Mulaney quote: _“I will pepper in the fact that I am sex-repulsed”_ and we love him for it.
> 
> #MeanwhileInGothamCity #WayneFamily #StanTheWaynes
> 
> |
> 
> |
> 
> **Fabiooookay** _@FabioGray_
> 
> @CaitBaker Wait wait wait didn’t Jason Todd die??? I’m confused 👀
> 
> #WayneFamily #JasonToddWayne
> 
> |
> 
> |
> 
> **Vicki Vale** _@VictoriaVale_
> 
> @FabioGray Jason Todd is in fact alive and well! He’s only returned to the public eye recently, so we’re not surprised you’re out of the loop.
> 
> You can find our article <here>! #WayneFamily #JasonToddWayne
> 
> |
> 
> |
> 
> **Steph** _@StephanieBrown_
> 
> Yes, he did. Now, he is back. Do try and keep up people.
> 
> #WayneFamily #GothamIsWeird #OnlyInGotham
> 
> |
> 
> |
> 
> **Cassandra Wayne** _@CassandraWayne_
> 
> @FabioGray @StephanieBrown @VictoriaVale
> 
> I am just happy I met @JasonToddWayne. I don’t question Gotham. 🤷🏻♀️
> 
> #WayneFamily #JasonTodd
> 
> |
> 
> |
> 
> **Jason Todd** _@JasonToddWayne_
> 
> @CassandraWayne
> 
> Cass stop being wholesome you’re ruining my aesthetic
> 
> #WayneFamily #GothamIsWeird

Tim chuckles to himself, scrolling further through the tag. There are hundreds of people flooding the tag with their own references, reaction gifs to the thread, and some of their previous favourite Wayne moments.

He idly tidies up his desk, shutting down the computer, unplugging the cord charging his phone, and rolling up the schematics Lucius had left with him. He’d barely touched the papers, in truth, and he kinds of regrets it now, seeing as how Bruce had expressly asked him for help with them, so he makes a few more notes in a red pen and then rolls them up and secures them with a rubber band. He can take them home with him and he can work with Bruce directly.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes on the desk, and the screen lights up with a notification.

> 🦇 **_The Whole Damn Fam_** 🦇

> Broose: I actually enjoyed logging on to Twitter today while the Wayne Family tag is trending.
> 
> The Smallest: Usually it if fraught with lies and slander or pointless and unfunny memes, today it was tolerable.
> 
> Broose: What is that
> 
> The Firstborn: What is what???
> 
> Broose: What is my name. Who did that. I’m revoking your Netflix access.
> 
> Skynet: it was me lol. But Jason suggested it.
> 
> Wine Aunt: LOL
> 
> Cryptid Electrician: LKAJJIQAKOVQUY I told you he’d freak out
> 
> Skynet: Do it coward. I’ll just figure out your new password and login again.
> 
> Broose: Barbara.
> 
> Skynet: Broose.
> 
> Broose: Why are you like this.
> 
> Skynet: Because I was co-parented by a man who dressed like a Bat and fights crime and injustice who also is a multi-millionaire
> 
> Little Red Riding Hood: she’s got you there old man

> The Firstborn: hahahahha

Tim exits out if the group chat – still flooding with messages – and messages Bruce directly.

> Me: Had a look at those schematics Lucius dropped off this morning. It definitely looks like we’re being targeted by some kind of hacker, I’ve noticed some of the software is pretty new and vulnerable, so IT will definitely have to take a look.

> Me: The cops too, probably, because knowing Gotham this could be the start of some kind of mass hacking event.

He sets his phone down to shove a few folders and notebooks he needs to look at into his bag, grabbing it again when it buzzes with a reply.

> Dad: Thank you for looking them over, Tim, that’s a big help. I’ve asked Barbara to take a look when she’s got the chance, so she’ll likely check in within a few days and coordinate with us.

> Me: The more the merrier

> Dad: I saw you’ve been on the shared folder for the Gala too, fixing things up. Don’t work yourself too hard.

Tim snorts and immediately replies.

> Me: Pot, kettle.

> Dad: Fair’s fair. How about we look at those documents when you get home, have dinner, and then boot up that farming game you and Damian are always talking about?

Tim blinks owlishly, re-reading the message.

He must have taken too long to reply because a new message from Bruce quickly appears.

> Dad: That is, unless you have other plans. I know you have a full schedule and that you like to get all your work done in set intervals.

When Tim first met Bruce, he would have never guessed he could possibly experience self-doubt or awkwardness. It’s a grounding experience every time it occurs. It really humanises his father.

> Me: No, I think if I did any more work Cass would toss me into the sun. Or onto the couch with fifty blankets. I’ll charge my Switch so we can play Stardew Valley on the tv after dinner.

> Dad: Sounds good. See you when you get home.

Home.

It’s stupid, but it always hits Tim right in the heart when Wayne Manor is referred to as his home. When he’s included in talk about the iconic Wayne family. Whenever Bruce looks at him or talks about him and calls him “son”.

Tim blinks furiously and inhales deeply, pocketing his phone and willing the moisture out of his eyes.

* * *

**_8:30, Wayne Manor, Bristol._ **

“Wait, hang on, how do I move again?” Bruce asks, staring down at the controller in his hands. It looks comically small in the hands of such a large person.

“You use that joystick there. Also, that button is the interact button. You tap it to interact with the world. There’ll be a button prompt when you can interact with things.”

“Okay… Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Now follow me up here so we can go to the mine.”

“Okay.”

They’re squished together on the couch – though, they certainly don’t need to be, considering the size of the thing – and the closeness brings a pleasant warmth to Tim’s right side.

Damian is passed out in Bruce’s lap, sitting between his legs with his head bent to the right, away from Tim, cheek resting on Bruce’s chest. Because of this, Bruce has his arms resting either side of Damian’s, the controller in his lap. It doesn’t look very comfortable. Though, Tim doesn’t exactly have a lot of points of reference, so he isn’t sure. He’d offered some light commentary when he’d first sat himself down in Bruce’s lap, but eventually fell asleep

Cass sits quietly on an armchair with a weighted blanket and her phone, scrolling through some social media app – she plans to head out for patrol at about 10 and make some rounds in the narrows and Tricorner. Duke and Stephanie are down in the Cave doing some kind of night-time yoga routine. Alfred’s also down in the cave, cleaning the few firearms he keeps in the house. Cullen’s in his room, binge-watching Star Wars The Clone Wars.

Outside of the group chat, they’ve had only minimal contact with Barbara, coordinating some overseas operation with the Birds of Prey. Dick and Harper had left right after dinner to help her for the night. Jason and Kate had left at the same time, but they’d headed out for patrol in East End and the Financial District, respectively.

There’s a lot going on, and Tim can’t help but feel bad for skipping out on patrol to play Stardew Valley, of all things.

“Okay, what are we doing now we’re here?” Bruce asks.

It takes a few seconds for Tim to understand what he’s asking.

“Oh, well, it’s a mine, so you… Mine. For things. You go down the levels and collect stuff. And fight enemies.”

Bruce hums in that way that broadcasts he’s thinking at a mile a minute.

“I thought this was a farming game.”

“It is, there’s just a few enemies occasionally to vary gameplay, I guess. There are boss battles, kind of…”

Bruce exhales into a laugh. “So long as they’re not anything like the ones in Bloodbourne, I think I’ll manage.”

Tim spend at least ten minutes guiding Bruce through the mine, telling him which rocks to break and what each thing he collects is. Bruce has a terrible habit of trying to collect everything in sight. Tim wonders what he’d be like in a game like Skyrim - he makes a mental note to plan a gaming night with him, Bruce and Duke where they could introduce him to the world of the Elder Scrolls.

They reach another level of the mine, and are almost immediately attacked.

“These things remind me of the Slimes in Minecraft.”

“Yeah, they kind of do, huh? Especially when they swarm you.”

When they finish their fights, and they’ve picked up all the loot, Bruce puts his controller down and turns his head to Tim.

“Is everything alright, Tim?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s—I’m fine. Just thinking about a lot of things, I guess.”

Bruce breathes a laugh. “I know the feeling. Is… Is there anything I can do?”

Tim shakes his head. “There’s a lot going on, not necessarily bad or good, just a lot, you know? It’ll pass.”

Bruce’s lips curve into a small smile. “Okay.”

Then, he leans over and presses a kiss to Tim’s forehead, right at his hairline, carding a hand through his hair.

Tim forehead tingles long after Bruce is back upright, pressing buttons and flicking joysticks.

He smiles to himself, grateful for being part of such a chaotic and precious thing as a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this chapter shortly after the last one (as I’d mostly finished it by the time I’d posted the previous chapter) but then I decided to go and re-watch Star Wars The Clone Wars and Star Wars Rebels (again)… Also started applying to some workplaces for some part-time work (no luck so far; perks of a gig economy/recession I guess) and just generally not being in a good headspace. 
> 
> “I will stomp you to death with my hooves” is a John Mulaney quote you can find [here on YouTube](https://youtu.be/JhkZMxgPxXU)
> 
> Also, yes, Jason is ace/sex-repulsed (though I headcanon him as being panromantic), Cass is somewhere on the ace spectrum (homo-romantic, and dating Steph), and no I do not take criticism. I will not put up with ace exclusion or xenophobia of any kind, such comments will be deleted.


End file.
